


Blessed are the Hungry

by crowleyshouseplant (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Roughness, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crowleyshouseplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing excerpt from "The Rapture"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed are the Hungry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jdrewz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrewz/gifts).



Sam sits on the edge of his chair, toes curled into the worn-away cushions of his boots. His knees are pressed hard up against the table, and a metal bolt is jutting into the skin there, not enough to hurt, just enough to tug his attention away from the almost-empty flask at his hip.

Jimmy’s eaten his burger. He’s licking the wrapper, he’s licking the salt from his fries with his tongue, there’s a smear of red at the crease of his lips.

Sam swallows hard.

It’s just ketchup. He doesn’t even like ketchup.

He flexes his hands against his thighs, pops his eyes open wide until the air makes them sting.

He’s glad that Dean’s gone off somewhere—didn’t process where, but Dean knows him too well, knows him too well when he’s hiding something, comes with having no space at all, living inside a car where they breathe the same air—and of course, Jimmy won’t know shit, won’t know that this isn’t just how he always is, because Jimmy is still too busy stuffing his face and saying that they need to let him go home because apparently he hasn’t learned a goddamn thing.

“You know,” Sam says, “there won’t be any family left if the devil wins. Which is what will happen if the demons find out any residual information, you know.” He shrugs, swallows some ice water. It doesn’t do anything to wet the dryness in his mouth, fix the way his throat is too big for his body, the way every nerve craves and craves some more.

Jimmy looks back at Sam, mouth open, before he shakes his head. “That won’t happen.”

Sam slumps back in his chair, biting down on his words. He hates being the bad guy here. He hates breaking up a family.

Jimmy gets up, so Sam gets up with him, slants his body so that his bulk cuts off passage to the door. He looms over Jimmy and Jimmy stares up at him, blue eyes scornful, head shaking. “You mind?” he says and goes towards one of the two beds.

He stops by one of the mirrors on the walls, leans in close, frowning. Opens his mouth, works his jaw back and forth, up and down. Lifts the corners of his lips into a sneer.

Sticks his tongue out.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“All yours again,” Sam says. “Must be a nice feeling.”

Jimmy whips around. “It never stopped.”

Sam laughs, grimaces. “Right.”

“Let me go to my family, Sam. I deserve to go to my family.”

Sam bows his head. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with this.

Jimmy narrows his eyes. “You don’t get it. You don’t get why’d I want to do what I did. I see how it is. You can do whatever you want—including keeping me locked in here against my will—“ he shuffles restlessly, tears his fingers through his hair—“in the name of the greater good. But I can’t? Is that it?”

“You know what I don’t get?” Sam says, looking up at him. “Is that you left your family. Who the fuck does that?”

Jimmy freezes, eyes looking side to side. “I didn’t. I was doing God’s work. I was saving the world because I could. Because it was in my blood. I did this for them, not for me. For my family.  And now I’m going back to them because I’ve had enough.”

Sam smooths his palms over the worn denim of his thighs, studies his boots. “Family sticks together. And when they fuck it up, they’re supposed to protect each other.”

“You do get the irony of that statement, don’t you?” Jimmy goes to his trenchcoat, tugs it over his arms and his shoulders. “Goodbye, Sam. It was great talking to you. The moralist speech was A plus.”

Jimmy is a little quicker on his feet than Sam—if only he weren’t so dry, not quite so distracted by the almost empty flask in his pocket—so Jimmy reaches the door first.

But Sam is close behind, palm easily covering Jimmy’s, weight easily slamming the door shut. He pushes Jimmy aside, braces his back against the door. “Stop.”

Jimmy steps in close and Sam can feel his breath on his face when he says, “No.”

“You can never go back,” Sam says. “Not ever. Don’t you get it?”

“I’m going back,” Jimmy says.

Sam narrows his eyes, half laughing, half snorting, hating that he’s fucking smiling because this guy—so he just says, “Fine. Going back will put you in danger.”

Jimmy lunges forward and they grapple with each other until Sam twists, pins Jimmy against the door, pins Jimmy’s wrists in his own hands, holding Jimmy down by pressing his other hand against his chest. He feels Jimmy’s heart thumping hard against his palm, sees the line of sweat threading its way down Jimmy’s chest—

—he irrationally wonders how the blood of angels taste but he’ll never get a chance—

and then Jimmy presses against him, stretching his hands out to pull Sam in closer by his jacket, biting him hard on the lips, not enough to hurt, just enough to jerk his attention back to the fact that they’re pressed up close to each other and that Jimmy’s pupils are dilated, and he’s licking his lips, eyes fixed on Sam’s mouth.

“Well we have to do something to pass the time if you’re not going to let me go,” Jimmy says. He stands up on the toes of his worn black boots, whispers in Sam’s ear. “Just say yes, Sam. Say yes, for once.”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, tightens his grip on Jimmy’s wrist, and he doesn’t wince, doesn’t flinch, eyes never leaving Sam’s face, so Sam goes for it, pushes him back harder against the door while Jimmy kisses his mouth, pushes his tongue and uses his teeth while rubbing himself against Sam’s thigh.

Jimmy tastes like stale french-fries, old ketchup, a tang of salt that’s just too human.

Sam pulls Jimmy from the door, pushes him to the bed. He strips out of his trenchcoat, stumbling as his fingers unbutton his blouse. “Come on, Sam,” he says, kicking off his shoes. “Sit on the bed.”

He does and Jimmy takes off Sam’s undershirt, straddles his waist, his thighs, hard against Sam’s stomach, crushing teeth-edged kisses into his neck, smoothing the smart with his tongue until Sam spreads his legs and Jimmy falls awkwardly between them, reseats himself into a kneeling position.

Sam goes to guide Jimmy’s head, but he ducks from under Sam’s palm, instead catching his hand, bringing it to his mouth, gently kissing the skin there before pulling Sam’s fingers into his mouth, licking and nibbling and sucking, eyes never leaving Sam’s face—

And Sam can’t stop himself from seeing Castiel, can’t stop the rush of heat flooding his stomach and his groin as he tries to see Jimmy, just Jimmy, some asshole in a cheap suit who abandoned his family—still abandoning his family—right now instead of the angel who once hesitated to shake his hand.

Jimmy presses Sam’s hand to the bed, runs his palms up his thighs, unzips him, mouths at him until his boxers are hot and damp before taking him out and swallowing him down, palms against the spurs to Sam’s hips to keep him from thrusting up.

Sam throws his head back, tries to focus on the ceiling and regain his breath, tries not to steal a glance at his cast aside jeans with the almost-empty flask in its pocket, tries not to think about this person in front of him, sucking him off likes it’s the only thing that would satisfy him because that was a lie, that was nothing but.

He hears Jimmy unzip his own pants, hears the slide of his hand against himself, and they both come, and they tuck themselves back in, they shrug back into their jackets, and they don’t look at each other.

Jimmy slumps back at the table, munches on the left over fries, bits of left over meat. Slurps down the rest of the melted ice and coke.

Sam rubs his hand over his mouth, and presses hard against the almost-empty flask at his pocket.

He’s not even surprised when Jimmy leaves like a thief in the night.


End file.
